


Warmth

by slimecrime



Series: Lio and Gallo Plan To Fuck And Maybe Actually Do [1]
Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, soft times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimecrime/pseuds/slimecrime
Summary: Lio is having trouble processing everything that has happened to him, as well as his feelings for Galo.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Series: Lio and Gallo Plan To Fuck And Maybe Actually Do [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656046
Comments: 9
Kudos: 176





	Warmth

There has been no break in the tireless rush of cleanup, organization, volunteer, distribute meals, find blankets, cleanup, build housing, distribute housing, find more blankets, treat the sick, find more doctors, find more volunteers, find more food, get more resources. They all had just been quaking through the days, unsure if they themselves had slept or eaten. They'd been handed food too, of course. They'd been given time to sleep too, of course. But after uncounted hours throughout fuzzy and poorly defined days, Lio had begun to lose the battle between his will and his body.

"You should just sleep," he tells Galo first.

The two of them had been awarded a few hours to rest this morning. It's questionable, however, if they'll be able to take that time. Even when they're given moments of silence, there's always something unexpected that needs their help. It's hard to predict. It's hard to organize. The mess seems just too big to clean up.

But they were promised a few hours.

"I want to shower," Galo says, not moving a muscle. His eyes drift closed and his chest rises with a sigh under Lio's head.

Lio intends to respond with a quick "You do need a shower..." but all that comes out of his mouth is a hum. He buries his face into Galo's t-shirt. His fingers press against the soft jersey fabric in idle circles, the warmth of his body seeping through. Galo's hand is heavy and limp on his back. He wants nothing more than to be swallowed by the heat and safety of his arms, to fall asleep like this for days and days.

But his stomach is filled with a profound hunger that swells up into his throat. His brain floats side to side and he can feel his own heartbeat in every muscle in his body. He can feel it in the tips of his fingers and toes and he can feel it thudding down deep in his abdomen. He wants nothing more than to sleep and eat and drink water and shower and sleep and sleep and sleep. His mouth is dry and unconsciousness just will not take him, no matter what he does.

And something else is there too. There's something else making his stomach sick besides hunger and exhaustion. There's something very wrong. There's so much that is very very wrong.

His own body is cold. Freezing cold. The loss of the heat of his flames was like the sudden deprivation of an entire sense, like he'd lost the ability to touch, like he'd lost the ability to think, like he'd lost part of his mind. He can feel his skin practically shaking from the desperate beats of his heart, and the heat of Galo's body is barely a fraction of the warmth he needs. He is absolutely ice cold.

And.

And...

There is one more thing. There is one other thing digging its way into the depths of his body. One more pressing thing, as he clings to the strongest source of heat he has. The only thing that keeps him warm, that he has been unable to keep his fingers off of in all their downtime. In every restful moment, Lio has, without thought, because he honestly just has no thoughts to spare, sunk his fingers deeply into the warmth of this body. Galo is so willing, too, to hold him. He is so willing to wrap him in his arms. He is so willing to crush him into his ribs and muscles.

But.

But.

Lio swallows and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Hunger and nausea and the frigid emptiness of his body build up as bile in the back of his throat. He bites hard on his lip and peels back the dry top layer of skin, tasting the iron, stinging, blood beneath. He strokes the jersey cotton t-shirt that stretches so well over this beautiful man's chest. He cranes his neck and stares up at the underside of his chin. His eyes are peacefully closed, and his jaw is slack, and his breathing is calm. Lio stares at him through his own uncombed blonde hair and cannot will himself to take a breath.

Who is Galo Thymos?

Who is Galo Thymos?

Who on earth is this man he is clinging to? Who saved his life? Who breathed his own fire back into his chest? Who has been holding him tightly at every spare moment? Who has been laughing with him through the grueling exhaustion? Who seems to be convinced, just as much as he has, by an unbeatable potion of adrenaline and the unreality of trauma, that he ought to give him every ounce of love he can?

His throat closes up and he cannot cry.

"Galo?"

He doesn't answer him. He's alseep. He should let him sleep. Lio should sleep too. He's too tired to figure this out. He's too tired and scared and cold to figure this out.

"Galo?"

Fear pricks and burns inside his chest.

Galo's arm is heavy and huge on his back as he is crushed between his body and the couch. Lio tries to push himself up without disturbing him too much. He, fortunately, seems to be having no trouble staying asleep, so Lio is able to carefully reach his arm over his ribs. He stretches himself over his torso. He pulls his leg over next, stretching until his toe touches the floor, until he is in the middle of his chest and staring into his face.

Galo continues to sleep so deeply. His expression is entirely innocent, entirely void of any emotion that could ever hurt him. He is completely still aside from soft breaths. But who is he? Who is he? He's a firefighter. Who knows what he believes? Who knows what he thinks? Who knows what he thinks of him, of his friends, of the people he loves, of the people he himself has soothed from flaming sobs?

He drags the rest of himself over his body, and momentarily crumples onto the floor beside the couch. He takes a few nervous steps back, and stares at him. He clutches his own skinny wrists in his cold and shaking fingers.

"Galo?"

The air is cold around him. His body is small and empty. He is incredibly, incredibly empty. The void immediately around him crawls up his back and he can't seem to make his own arms grip himself tight enough. He glances over his shoulder, at every corner, at the doorway, at the kitchen cabinets, at the bright morning light coming from the windows.

Lio realizes he has never felt a fear so void of anger in all his life.

He remembers the searing, pulling, stabbing, ripping pain of the engine, pulling like needles and threads from every single nerve in his body to stretch his form into something far greater than ever should've been possible. He remembers falling apart, disappearing into the numb thumping of his heart. The memory envelopes him, now that he is so so cold. Now that his body is so exposed to the sheer emptiness of air.

He remembers, he remembers, the only thing that made that pain stop, the only thing, the first thing he felt that wasn't pain, that didn't hurt or burn or pull or stab or kill. He remembers, with anguish, his flames flowing down into him, and warming his core so gently. And he remembers, with twisting knots in his stomach, the delicate touch of Galo's fingers on his jaw, and the taste of his breath, and the soft and sad and desperate shape of his mouth.

And he wants the ghost of pain to stop. He wants it to stop, and he wants to feel warm, he wants to feel safe, he wants to feel strong, and fine, and safe, and fine. He wants to feel fine. He wants to eat and drink and sleep and feel fine. He wants to feel strong again. God, he was so strong. He's done so much, hasn't he? What right to fear does he have? What right to fear does he have for this man who saved him?

There are so many people counting on him to help them rebuild their shattered lives. What right does he have to fear right now? Especially fear of something like this?

He takes a deep breath. He pulls his fingers away from his wrists and brings his arms down to his sides. He swallows. He rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He takes a long look at Galo’s gently sleeping form, and feels nothing but an unquenchable urge to kiss him into oblivion.

He leans over him gently, carefully, cautiously. His very messy hair drapes onto his neck. He presses his lips so softly onto his and holds tight with his mouth. For this moment, he swells with nothing at all but pure love. This kiss alone is enough to warm his soul and fill his starving body. He almost reconsiders just falling back into his arms and laying back down on his chest.

But then Lio pulls away. And as soon as he does, Galo’s eyelids flutter and he does his best to look at him through a veil of sleep.

Lio strokes his cheek for a moment.

“Go back to sleep. I’m going to go check on Gueira and Meis.”

Galo hums and smiles despite his exhausted eyes, and, in a state that probably does not qualify as awake, wraps his arms around Lio and pulls him tight to his chest. Lio’s face falls into the safe crook of his neck.

“No,” Galo mumbles playfully into his hair. “You need to sleep. Stay.”

Lio laughs as fear and love begin to flood his system.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t sleep. I’m too…”

Galo releases him from the embrace. He is still smiling, but his eyes are begging him to go back to sleep.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he mumbles. “I know there’s a lot to be scared of, but everyone’s alright. You have to take care of yourself.”

Something inside Lio melts. His eyes begin to well up and his head starts to hurt. He takes one sharp breath in and the next one out is a wracking sob. He suddenly can’t take a single normal breath and his whole body shakes. His entire face is soaked with tears.

Galo, panicked, dredges himself from his sleepy stupor and sits up as best he can. He wraps his arms around Lio and rubs circles over his back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, still only half awake. “I didn’t mean to- You can go check on them if that’s what you want.”

Lio can’t seem to get a hold of himself long enough to explain. He’s not even sure he has an explanation.

“Did something happen? Did someone hurt them?” he asks, clearly ready to fight, to fix this, to defend them. Clearly ready to do whatever he needs to. Clearly ready and loving and open and warm and perfect.

“No,” Lio manages. “No, they’re fine.”

Galo relaxes, and puts a hand on Lio’s face. His eyes are filled with worry and Lio feels sick in his heart as that worry turns to Galo's own tears.

Lio puts all of his energy into calming down if only to stop himself from making Galo cry too. He could never stand to be responsible for that. He tries to relearn how to take a normal breath and looks away from his face. He stares hard at the fabric of the couch and tells himself over and over again:

You have to calm down. You have to calm down.

But the more he tries the worse it becomes. He is completely swallowed by whatever this is. Fear? Panic? Sorrow? Pain? It doesn’t matter. He can’t stop feeling and feeling and feeling.

Galo pulls him into his chest and kisses him on the cheek and on the temple and jaw and hair.

Lio gives in and lies back down next to him, falling back into the comfort of his arms. He enjoys the warmth and the safety and the feeling, the strange and uncomfortable, horrifying feeling, that this person may, at least in this moment, really love him.

“We have to go on a date,” Lio manages. “We need to go out and get pizza or smoke together or something. You can’t just…”

He starts laughing, partly at how scared he is of his own love for Galo, and partly at how incredibly endearingly bone crushing this hug is.

“You can’t just keep killing me with your love like this until we’ve had some time to talk.”

He smiles and breathes, but the tears don't stop. He pushes his face deeper into his neck and kisses him softly.

“Okay. Are you free any time soon?” Galo mumbles.

“I have to check my schedule,” Lio says.

Galo laughs.

“Are you alright?” he whispers, looking down into his eyes. His brow creases and his eyes are exhausted. 

“I’m okay,” Lio assures him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was. Or what this is.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes are closed and it’s clear that he’s still fighting to stay awake. Lio becomes still again and begins to softly touch the fabric of Galo's shirt. It's worth seeing where this goes, he decides. He is still hungry and empty, but exhaustion was beginning to finally win over the anxiety. Galo strokes his arm softly, and it's somehow the most comforting thing Lio has ever felt. 

Lio's eyes begin to drift closed as they become heavier and heavier. His muscles relax and Galo’s arms become looser, though he still keeps a hand on his waist. He slowly begins to drift into the warmth of sleep.


End file.
